When Light Warriors LOSE THEIR JOBS!
by The Remington
Summary: The FFIII Light Warriors have saved the world, and now bring the blessing of Jobs to the whole world. But what if somebody in their own ranks does his job worse that the newbies? Semi-new and improved! First fic. Review me up, dudes.
1. Crying Over Onion Knights

NOTE: This story is based off the original NES Final Fantasy III. And, for the kicker, I only went up to the beginning of the Fire Cave. Thus, I know nothing of the job classes that you can receive in the game. That being said, enjoy :D

Disclaimer: Dude, I don't own any of this. It was all Square's idea. I was off yodeling at the time.

When Light Warriors LOSE THEIR JOBS!!

Mark stood near a seaside cliff. He looked off at the brilliant sunset splayed before him. Seaspray glistened on his armor as he appreciated the bold colors and fading light of the day. His burnished red hair was pulled by a wisp of wind, and he smiled. Today had been quite an excellent adventure. They had whipped some monsters' asses, collected some Gil, performed minor surgery, and saved a town from an evil magician. His muscles ached from all the sword swinging and body lifting he had done today. However, he felt accomplished for the first time in a long time. When he and his brothers had finally saved the world from darkness, he had entered a blue funk. But helping people had resparked his love of life. Being a knight was probably the best thing that had happened to him.

"MARK!" his little brother Dean hollered, "Could you come into the inn for a sec!?"

"Can do. Gimme a sec!" he responded. He pulled his sword out of the ground where he had planted it, sheathed it, and sauntered inside the inn whistling a lilting tune.

Dean held the door for him. Tall, with flowing white hair, a plumed hat, and a long crimson jacket, Dean was the consummate red mage. Always ready with a plan, always calm, and ready to pick up a sword to defend his friends. Not heavy swords, of course. Those would wreck his back.

Dean led Mark to a small room. Candles lined the walls around a dusty wooden table with two split-backed chairs on opposite sides. Dean motioned for Mark to take a seat. He closed the door and circled the table, taking the other seat for himself. He pulled out some papers, shuffled them and sucked in a breath.

"Mark, we need to have a little talk about your performance." Dean said with a poker face.

Mark's smile dropped a centimeter.

"W-…What do you mean, Dean?"

"Mark…you're my brother. We've had great times together. We discovered the Wind Crystal together. We kicked some major ass, got the chicks, and saved the world. But lately…lately, Mark…..ever since we began this pilgrimage to give the people the means to save themselves, the blessing of job classes...you just haven't been fighting to your potential."

"What are you talking about, Dean?! I did great today! We tore up that sea mage so bad, Erik's magic wouldn't be able to fix that mess!"

"Mark, all you did today was kick octopi in the groin."

"Yeah! In order to drop their defenses!"

"Mark, octopi don't have testicles."

"Well, I didn't see you doin' much!"

"That's because you were too busy shielding townspeople from the evils of bathwater."

"Hey, you never know when that stuff will sneak up on you!"

"Just like rocks and orangutans?"

"Hey! You were there when that rock walked into my face!"

"Ian threw it at your face, dumbass."

"…Why would he do such a thing?"

"That doesn't matter. Mark, you're a hindrance to this group. We feel that your Capacity would be better allocated somewhere else. We've already hired outside help."

Mark's eyes widened. He gripped the edge of the table until the wood cracked. He stood up at once and yelled, "WHAT ARE YOU SAYING?!"

Dean calmly said, "Mark…you're fired."

"WHAT? NOOOO!!" A huge flash filled the room. Dean shielded his eyes as an unearthly scream tore through the room. The blinding light dissipated as Mark fell to the floor with only a shirt, breeches, and a cheap wooden helmet on his head. He was an onion knight. Again.

"I'll give you some time to clear out your things," Dean said as he left the room.

Mark leapt to his feet. Without another word, he fled into the night, crying his bleeding eyes out.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is my first fanfic, everybody. Flame if you want to, say what you want, help me become better at this. The idea I had in mind for this project would lend itself better to a comic, but I'm a drawing lightweight. So, here you go! Hopefully, this will become WAY funnier as it goes.**


	2. A Dirty Hobo and His Metro Bro

DISCLAIMER: I might own the plot of this fic, but not the games

DISCLAIMER: I might own the plot of this fic, but not the games. It was mostly Square's idea…I was off disproving the Pythagorean Theorem at the time.

Chapter The Next

Dean strode through the streets of Canaan, head held high and smiling. Ever since Mark left, things had been going smooth. With all the dragon-slaying, humanitarian work, and parties he and his brothers participated in these days, he hardly had time to brush his hair! Dean self-consciously put a hand to his flowing locks as he passed by a gaggle of giggling maidens. He grinned hugely and winked at them. Yessiree, things were just fine.

He rounded a corner and caught his feet on a strange obstruction. He fell hard to the ground, spitting curses. He struggled to his feet, dusted himself off and straightened his sword belt. Dean inspected his clothes. His pants were fine, shirt in great condition, jacket was a little stained (he made a note to get that giant blood washed out)…however…oh no! His HAT! The feather was bent, the brim was scuffed, his life was OVER!!

Dean spun on his heels and fixed a seething glare upon the vaguely person-shaped obstruction. Fire flew from his boots (couture) as he whipped out his sword and stormed up to the offending party. Seizing the putrid collar-like object of the person-shaped obstruction, he lofted it high and screamed in its earhole, "WHAT IN THE BLOODY FUCKING HELL ARE YOU DOING TRIPPING UP WARRIORS OF LIGHT, YOU DROOLING GRIMY PEASANT?!" Dean brandished the "ruined" hat in front of the PSO fiercely, "Hats such as this come along once in a lifetime, and you destroy it in one fell swoop! You sir, are a scoundrel and a cur!! I will have you hauled in front of the judge and subjected to having molten lead poured on your eyes! I'll-"

At that point, the thrice-cursed obstruction trembled while the enraged red mage carried on his diatribe. Flecks of accumulated dirt and small insects spattered Dean's face as the creature opened its eyes. It blinked out the dust that had accumulated in its retinas, and attempted to move its arms. The caked mud refused to budge. Using the few ounces of strength it had left, the unfortunate being lifted its arms and loosened Dean's grip on its collar. In doing so, it dropped a sign which read, "Will Work For Capacity"

The filthy person lowered itself to the ground tiredly while Dean continued spitting blue fire about all the punishments he would deal upon that "unholy slanderer!" It scraped off the caked guano and straw that amassed over the past week, revealing a man. Stubble on his cheeks, soiled and torn clothes, exhausted eyes, the very picture of a bum.

Dean regained his good senses to give the bum a searching look. And another. And one more.

"Mark…Mark, is that you?" he said incredulously.

The bum coughed and spat up a chicken. After pocketing it for later, he said in a gravelly voice, "Yeah, Dean. It's me." Mark coughed up some gravel, examined it, thought it would be good eats with the chicken, and pocketed it. For later.

"What the hell happened to you?" Dean inquired, wondering how such a famous hero could fall so far in the world that loved him so.

"After you kicked me out, I ran in the general direction of the nearest town. I got lost, and I wandered the dark forests for hours. Then I was kidnapped by thieves. I was shot, beaten, stabbed, robbed, and dumped on the roadside. I lay shivering in a pool of my own bile until a lone dragoon came by and dragged me to a farm to report a missing, and unfortunately diseased, animal. After I convinced them that I was not old Harvey the cow, thought to be lost forever, I was thrown into a pile of horse shit and told to shovel to pay my ass' way to Canaan.

"It turned out that the dragoon and the farmer planned to get cheap free labor out of me, then slaughter me and sell me as lean beef. I made a break for it and made to the city. I planted myself at this street corner and have been begging people to give me something to do, so I can be someone again."

Dean's eyes were wide. This was his brother, one he had dumped to the wayside. Who led the charge in their final battle? Mark did. Who shielded Erik and Ian from crushing blows while they prepared their spells? Mark had. Who helped straighten his hair and made him delicious omelets every morning? Mark was always the best with eggs.

Dean reached into his pocket, He grasped a small object and pulled it out. He grasped Mark's wrist and put the object in his hand.

He whispered, "You need it more than I do, man." And, with a swoosh of his jacket, Dean stalked away to find a suitable haberdasher.

Mark looked at his palm. In it were twenty tiny glowing blue stones. Enough Capacity to get any job he wanted! Mark coughed, stood, shook the feces out of his pants, and went to find an "Now Hiring" sign.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Wow, my writing is all over the place. I changed Dean from a HR representative to a livid metrosexual…um. Yeah. This'll probably get better, but only with your input. Help me out, dudes! **


End file.
